Page 141 of Freed By the Witchbone Knife

“Rebecca,” he murmured, one hand sliding into my hair. “Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

I lifted my head, meeting his gaze. I saw something there I’d noticed all week but hadn’t dared put into words.

Peace.

Because of our bond, I was acutely aware of the change in him. That he hadn’t felt the overwhelming urge to shift and go off into the woods alone. That his skin wasn’t itching with the need to run. That his thoughts were the most coherent they’d been, even after I’d moved into his cabin.

Maybe he wasn’t ready to believe in fairytales, but I did. Because he was mine.

I rode him harder. He groaned, his head falling back against the headboard. “You’re killing me, little witch.”

“Good.” I picked up my pace, chasing pleasure for both of us. I felt when he was getting close, adjusted my angle to take him deeper. Letting him hit that perfect spot that would have me seeing stars.

I couldn’t wait for our future. To spend countless hours getting to know his body. Learning everything he loved. Everything that made him feel good.

“Rebecca—fuck—I’m going to⁠—“

“Do it,” I urged. “Come for me, Axel.”

He did with a roar, his hands gripping my hips, fingers pressing into my flesh as he emptied himself inside me. The feel of it, combined with the pleasure flooding through our bond, sent me over the edge, clenching around him as I shook apart.

My hips slowed until I collapsed against his chest, my forehead pressed to his.

We stayed like that for a long moment, breathing each other’s air. His hand stroked up and down my spine while I traced the tattoos on his chest.

“Better than pumpkin carving?” he finally asked.

I laughed, swatting his shoulder. “Only if you admit that I won.”

He harrumphed then pressed his lips together, unwilling to budge.

“Fine,” I said, grinning against his neck. “You win the pumpkin competition.”

“Damn right.”

“But I won something better.” I pulled back to look at him in time to see his eyebrow lift.

“What’s that?”

“You.” I traced the scar on his face. “A mate who carves pumpkins of my bunnies. Who faced down a cave full of his worst nightmares to help break my curse. Who cooks gourmet meals and makes me come until I can’t remember my own name.”

A huff of laughter escaped him. “When you put it like that...”

“So yeah, you can have the pumpkin victory. I got the better deal.”

“Not sure about that, lass.” His hand slid into my hair. “I got a witch who throws pumpkin guts at my face. Pretty sure I got the better deal.”

A delighted laugh burst from my chest. “In that case, I’ll happily throw pumpkin guts at your face whenever you like.”

“So long as I get to carry you off to bed afterward and worship your body.”

“Deal.” My chest went tight. I kissed him. When I pulled away to look at him, my voice was low as I said, “I guess we both won.”

“Aye,” he agreed, love and contentment radiating through the bond. “We did.”

Outside, the sun began to dip low, turning the trees to fire.

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